


I'll be Okay

by Imnothere16



Category: Legion (TV), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Assault, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Being a Drama Queen, Erik has Issues, Gay Panic, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Palace, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mindfuck, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Mutilation, Panic Attacks, Psychotropic Drugs, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, author is not okay, bad genes, but so does peter big time, dadneto, venting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imnothere16/pseuds/Imnothere16
Summary: Peter Maximoff is suffering. He despises himself and slowly learns to act on his destructive impulses, those revolting thoughts, the dread he feels at the thought of waking up and starting a new day ate at him in every second of every moment. He finds someone, someone who understands, who listens... what he didn't know, was that the person he suddenly confided in, was the most powerful mutant to ever live. He meets David Haller on the streets, and there they bloom a relationship strung from substance abuse and dopamine.Maybe he'll be okay after all... but will the rest of the world?(Evan Peters & Dan Stevens)
Relationships: David Haller & Charles Xavier, David Haller/Erik Lehnsherr, David Haller/Pietro Maximoff, David haller/Peter Maximoff
Comments: 28
Kudos: 42





	1. Dancing With Death

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning, attempted suicide.

PS Before reading this, the entire story is one big trigger warning. Self-harm, suicide, depression, PTSD flashbacks, mentions of eating disorders, derealization, anxiety, panic attacks, kidnapping, assault etc.

______________________________________________

He can't do this anymore, He couldn't just sit here and watch him go about the mansion like he had nothing. Peter looked into his eyes and saw nothing but guilt, sadness and intimidating anger. He wished he could express that he forgave him, that Erik really does still have someone to care for. But it was fucking hard. He never thought it would be so difficult. Every time he attempted to tell him, he'd lose his entire train of thought and completely give up. You would think after 19 years of isolation from the truth, you'd want to meet your father and confront him.

But he was here, right in front of him, and he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. He needed to leave, go somewhere to think, somewhere to weigh out his options, but he couldn't be alone. Whenever he was, his mind seemed to crumble to pieces. He thought about what could be and who he really should be and he's ashamed of himself for how weak he really was behind this mask of cockiness and perfection. He hated himself for it with every fibre of his being. No one knew that or at least suspected, and god, does he panic when he thinks about scenarios of someone noticing, or catching him in the act.

He had a hard time admitting to himself that he was fucked up a long time ago. His therapist said he had an eating disorder, and because of this (among other things), he self-harmed. It was a scary subject for most people, especially his mother. She never understood but was terrified at how good he was at hiding it all. He has Major Depressive Disorder, Insomnia, Bulimia, Hypersensitivity, and generalized anxiety. He tried not to think about it much, pretends its nothing, like it's not even there. It was hard to stay level-headed in a house full of powerful mutants when you know they can most definitely tell that you've got a few human diseases swimming around in your head, so Peter steers clear of the telepath(s). One time he accidentally let out a wretched thought in front of Charles, but luckily he had been too occupied with Erik to hear anyone else's thoughts at that moment. 

Luck had surprisingly been on his side that day.

But today? Hell no. Luck didn't even seem to exist anymore. His idiotic brain managed to make it harder than it usually was and fucking gifted him two panic attacks during the hour he was supposed to teach, but luckily the class was almost always distracted, His own fault honestly. But he had made it out of the room before any of them realized his thoughts had turned completely sinister. This is one of his greatest fears. 

Someone who could see inside his head, who could analyze his memories . . . his incredibly dark moments and . . . know all of his secrets.

His breath hitched at the thought of it and he bit the inside of his cheek as hard as he could.

Stop it.

He was working himself up again and it's really not what anyone needed. If he didn't calm down now, everything he built for himself would end in disaster and that isn't something that he wants to deal with or even see happen. In the midst of thoughts, He jumped at the sound of the buzzer on his door, it signalled that Charles needed to see the 'X-Men' in the danger room.

Before doing anything, He took a heavy breath and clenched his teeth tight. He was exhausted from the panic and nauseous since he decided to eat. He tried closing his eyes to try and stop the burst of panic that flowed through his chest when he thought about the food he ate, but now it was all he could think about. **

'Please.'

'Keep it down'

'Plea--' He didn't get to finish his thought as he ran for the bathroom. His finger instinctively went in his mouth and fought back a flinch when he scraped the back of his throat with his nails. He started to cry, punching his stomach over and over.

"Keep it down, keep it down, Fucking keep it down!!" He couldn't hold it anymore, he shoved his fingers in his throat again and retched violently. Frustrated that nothing came up, he did it again, and finally, he felt himself be released by that mental hold that told him he was fat, that he deserved this, that he couldn't eat- well, only for now. He dry heaved on the last shove of his fingers, so he decided he was done. His face must've looked like shit, he was crying because of the vomiting, his mouth was coated in spit and his skin glistened in perspiration. 

He went to the giant closet next to the bookcase and put on the suit with difficulty because of how dizzy he felt from throwing up, but he couldn't help but feel the weight on his chest lighten up in the smallest bit. The professor probably wanted them to go on another mission. And in all honesty, Peter didn't feel entirely up to it and his suit barely covered half his wrists, so the mangled mess on his forearms was completely visible. He felt shame bubble up, but decided at the moment, he didn't care about it. We all had to do something to help us focus.

Ever since the 'Apocalypse' happened, he hadn't been sleeping. He just physically couldn't. He was plagued with nightmares that ate away at his insides while he slept. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw his father giving him that strange, pitiful look as En Sabah Nur breaks his arm and leg as if they were meaningless twigs. The pain he suffered through that day, changed him entirely. He started seeing things in a horrible way, he ignored everyone around him. Gave them short, simple responses like they're nothing to him. 

Of course, that's not the case, but now more than ever, he felt he couldn't get attached to anyone. He used to be pretty cool and collected, someone who people had looked up to. Now, he was just another emotional wreck. He looks as if he was talking to death personally and becoming the best of friends. With that thought, He decided to put extra armour on his arms to hide as best as he could, and zipped to the battle room without a thought. When he stopped, his vision had become tunnel-like and he absentmindedly swerved to the right.

"Peter? You alright?" Scott asked quietly, trying not to bring any attention to the two of them, which he silently appreciated. He grabbed onto Scott's arm to steady himself and nodded, too scared to speak, his throat had become tight.

"Yeah, I-I'm alright." His voice shook and he scolded himself for letting it slip. He clenched his eyes open and closed as he tried to regain his vision and slowly let his fingers unfold around Scott's arm.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to get the Professor?" Peter shook his head violently and tried to regulate his breathing. They were coming out in quick bursts. But he was more so panicking about the fact that Scott might tell.

"No, Scott. I said I'm good." He replied with a snarl, he was frustrated whenever someone tried to help. He saw Erik- his . . . father, in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, as always, but he was staring with that curious gleam in his eyes. It made Peter feel embarrassed.

He put his hands behind his back and stared at the ground with anxiety filling his stomach. What if Erik knew? There it was, the thought that made Peter's heart pang with rejection. If he did know, why hadn't he come to him and talked about it? Was he refusing to see that Peter is his son? Did he not want him? Does he think Peter is a failure because he dropped out? Did he know that he practically lived in his mom's basement for years and thinks that it was weak? Erik was a villain for god's sake. He obviously had high expectations for a son. Peter was on such a low level that he couldn't even look Peter in the face and say, 'I'm proud of you' --

"Peter." Charles caught his attention quickly, and instead of reacting with all those incoherent thoughts, Peter's mind locked and silenced. He couldn't make it possible for anyone to ever see what he was thinking. No not after what happened last time. Not that Charles would do anything without his permission anyway but . . .

"Sorry, what?" He put his hands in front of him now and fiddled with his fingers to distract himself.

"If you would please pay attention, this is crucial for your mission." Charles hadn't meant to hurt Peter in any way but he honestly felt called out, and suddenly, he felt the panic crawling up his spine like a spider, waiting, anxious to take its pound of flesh. He couldn't keep his eyes open now, so scared the spider will pounce on him, and he could feel his bones shake underneath his skin. But fortunately, as quick as the feeling came, it was replaced with calming waves. He opened his eyes to be met with Charles concentrating on him, while Raven spoke to us. Peter sighed, and nodded, and held up a thumbs up. Charles nodded once and continued his speech with the others.

"So, when the plane lands --" Peter couldn't focus, he drowned himself out. But each time he heard his name, he perked up just a bit and paid attention the best he could. His eyes had become incredibly dry, and it was suddenly so hard to keep them open. He felt disoriented, he felt his mind start to form a migraine and as it slowly started to get worse, he felt a flick against his cheek.

And thank god he hadn't flinched like he thought he would.

Peter's reflexes were becoming slower, which was more than bad in his case.

"What's going on, Pete?" Alex was the one who flicked him, Of course. He always messed with him during training, Peter couldn't say that he didn't like it, but he also couldn't say that he did. It really depended on the day, and today, it honestly made him emotional.

"Nothing much. Just . . . really fucking tired." Well . . . at least he had given him some notion of the truth, it was . . . something.

"So the quickster knows what it feels like to slow down, Wow, never seen that coming." Dread fills Peter's stomach as he said this.

He walked away before Alex could say anything else. Was he really being that slow today? The feeling resonated in the pit of his gut. His hands became clammy, and he started to sweat profusely as he looked over at the others fighting.

He wanted to go out there and do his thing as he dreamed of doing for the past 10 years, but he was staring at them, going about like this was real and that those bots were actually there to destroy them. He willed his feet to go, to run, but he was stuck. Stuck in the same place, unable to move forward, unable to move back. He felt helpless, like in Cairo. Flashbacks came back to him in a frenzy, when his head was pulled back by the powerful god, and he accepted his fate, he realized in those moments that this was it. He was going to die.

Oh fuck.

He could feel it now, feel the panic bubbling in his chest, the spider was back, now rising into his throat. His heartbeat was getting more and more prominent in his ears, louder as the time went on. Everything started to slow down, there bodies almost not even moving. His body finally made a move, for the first time since coming into that room. He ran to where Charles and Erik were discussing something. And time snapped back like a rubber band, making his head throb. It felt awkward to interrupt them during a probably heated discussion about Peace or something, but he had to do this, otherwise, he'd never do it and explode in front of everyone here.

"Charles?" His voice came out calmer than expected, it surely didn't match with how he was feeling. The man looked up in concern, his hair swaying when he turned. It had been a long while since he had been bald, but luckily his hair was growing faster than ever expected. Peter liked it, honestly.

"Yes? Is everything alright? Why aren't you training?" Erik loomed over Charles as if he was his personal protector. He guessed in a way. . . he was.

"U-um, I-I'd like t-to be r-removed from the mi-mission." There it was, every bit of his hesitation and nervousness all jumbled in one sentence. He hated stuttering, especially in front of Erik. And the man's eyes actually became full of surprise as he stared at Peter's shaky frame.

"Why the hell would you want that? You're an adrenaline junkie, for god's sake. You love fighting," Erik spoke up without a warning and Charles put his hand on his arm. Peter felt his insides twist with guilt, the thought of disappointing his father made him quiver with self-hatred, and he knew he had to get the hell out of there before he fucking busted into tears. His head felt like it was about to implode.

Charles looked at him suspiciously and Peter felt an airy wisp go about his head, and almost immediately, he became defensive.

"Don't do that," His voice was firm, strong and angry. He reminded himself of Erik, which sent a shiver down his spine. He had spoken to Charles without answering Erik's question. But Peter couldn't care less about that, he knew what if felt to have someone trot around inside his head because of Jean. But Charles looked surprised as if he was trying to be subtle about it.

"I'm sorry . . . Curiosity . . . got the better of me." He cleared his throat before continuing, "Yes, you may be excused but . . . we'll have to talk about this some--"

Before Charles could finish, Peter was gone. His breathing was becoming more rapid as the seconds went by. His vision was constantly going in and out as he landed back in his room. He dropped to the ground and crawled to the wall next to his bed, letting the panic overcome him, it was all could he do, nothing worked anymore. It was like the spider enveloped his entire body without him realizing.

But he's never felt his anxiety this intense before, it was entirely different from what he had been used to feeling these past few days. It was swarming him and he couldn't stop it. It was painful and welcomed without consent but that's how it always was when the attacks came, but this was not the same entirely, whispers of deadly promises intoxicated him, filling his eyes with tears as deprecating words travelled his mind a million miles an hour. It became worse as the seconds passed, he was hitting his thigh harshly. He just wanted it to stop, just fucking--

"Stop it! Stop!! Breathe! Fuck," He gripped his hair as it gradually became more painful and harder to inhale. He stumbled up to run to the bathroom to try and fix this but his hands were shaking so violently that he ended up crashing all of the medicine bottles to the ground.

He hurriedly picked up the anxiety meds, popped the cap without dropping it, threw 8 in his mouth without thinking and swallowed hard. Peter went back and paced through his room, but instead, it became more of running in circles until his track turned black under his feet, waiting for the medicine to kick in was getting tedious and again, nothing was working.

He really needed this feeling to leave.

Now.

He doesn't have any good coping mechanisms, and he was itching for something to hurt himself with. But he couldn't! He has to be better than that, he doesn't want Erik to think that he's weak! He was already so fucked up; he could just imagine his reaction . . . knowing that your son struggled with self-mutilation is practically like icing on the fucking disappointment cake.

He could feel his heart thumping against his rib-cage harshly as he stared at the drawer next to his bed. It's only a temporary fix, he had told himself this over and over but it never seemed to convince him. He couldn't help but suck in a wet gasp as he pulled the drawer open to reveal what he wanted most. Three razors sat there, on top of the many scribbled notebooks he had. They were gleaming at him with promises of serenity and relief, and he couldn't help but give in shamefully. He stripped from his gear, and into sweats and in a longer, heavier sweatshirt. He had rolled up his sleeves slowly, knowing what he was doing was absolutely forbidden but he paid no attention to the red flags going off inside his head, and instead, lifted the silver instrument of destruction to his wrist slowly. **

His breath continued to race unevenly. Erik was right, he is an adrenaline junkie, but he craved more self-destructive rushes. When the blade met his skin, he tore through the flesh as quick as possible and made multiple red, jagged lines that were thick. He just wanted the panic to be gone, and he did it in the only way he knew how. He had switched arms as the pain became numb to him, and continued to swipe with no mercy. He slowly, but surely, felt the panic reside just for a moment. He stopped once both arms had suddenly gotten incredibly tired. Peter didn't even realize how big of a mess he was making and gasped outwardly once he saw the blood pouring down his arms onto the wood floor. The lines looked mangled and ugly, you could see the white bubble of fat underneath before the blood started to pool out.

And God . . . there was so much.

He ran to the bathroom again and scrambled to grab the rubbing alcohol out of the cupboard, and took a deep breath before pouring it onto his left arm, in response to this, he let out a loud pained cry. He muffled a curse while clenching his teeth and breathed irregularly. He hurriedly did the same to the other and couldn't control the punch he threw to the wall as the emotions he was suddenly hit with became too over-powering. He mentally could feel the walls starting to break down within him. He gasped in guilt and started to cry heavily as he attempted to try the breathing exercises he had learned a while back.

Nothing seemed to calm him at this moment.

The cutting had been useless and he felt pity and anger crawl in his veins because of it. He slid down the door in the bathroom and cried so hard that he couldn't even see anything in his peripheral vision. God, He couldn't stand living in this constant state of panic. He wanted to leave the world forever and never come back. He just wanted to disappear from everything all together and never have to face his father. 

He had no one, His mother decided to kick him to the curb as soon as he had become the legal age, His sister couldn't stand the sight of him because he hadn't followed her path, and instead, the X-Men's. His supposed father doesn't even want him as a son. What did he even have to live for anymore? He tried so hard to save as many as he could but it was never enough.

He's never enough and he never will be.

His eyes dried as he picked up the pill bottle lying on the ground next to him and read the title.

'PETER MAXIMOFF: ANTI-DEPRESSANTS'

He slipped the lid off and poured the entire contents of the bottle into the palm of his hand. He stared at the white circular pills with interest, bouncing them around in his hand a little, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to do this, but the idea of suicide right then sounded so calming.

Fuck it.

He threw his head back and tried to dry swallow a few pills at a time. It made him nauseous and his stomach rejected them immediately but he kept them down. His eyes were wet and glazed over, he didn't have any reaction to this. He just wanted it to be over. His ear started to ring loudly as he slid to the side and onto the floor, trying not to gag. 

He fell asleep with the light blinding his eyes.

_____________  
If I fucked up somehow please let me know.

Words: 3702

Made in: December 26th 2016

Edited on: February 17th 2021


	2. Weakness

He woke with his neck straining and the giant light above him was making him develop a migraine. His wrists ached considering, but so did his entire body. He was still lying on the bathroom floor, but now drenched in his own vomit. He felt his eyes begin to water and let out a disgustingly wet sob as he lied there realizing that he did it, he finally acted on his greatest impulse, and no one even came for him. But it did make this process so much easier because he wasn't disappointing anyone but himself. Why the fuck couldn't he have just died? It would've this so much easier.

He stood up slowly, wobbling over to the mirror and staring at his reflection with hatred pooling into the tired bones of his body. "Fucking hell," He mumbled as his vision tunneled. It felt like he rubbed his eyes too long. The dizziness was making him angry, the anger was starting to make his eyes water and as the time past, he just stared in that mirror, feeling so ashamed of himself, like he couldn't believe he actually tried it, the thing he wanted most and couldn't have. The more time he stared, he really looked at himself. His pale skin with ridges and bumps from past acne, his dull blue eyes that held nothingness in it's pupils, his chapped pink lips, his greasy hair and sinking cheeks. He hadn't realized he'd become so skinny, but then again, he never let himself really look at himself in the mirror like this and he felt his hands start to tremble. 

He was so disgusted with what he saw.

a complete failure

a waste of time and space

and so fucking ungrateful.

He lifted his fist and smashed it against the mirror with all the force he could muster and watched it shatter from an almost dissociated point of view. He didn't wanna see himself in the mirror anymore, he couldn't take it, so he kept on punching 'til the reflection was completely gone. He had stopped only after his knuckles started to throb. He tried not to scream as his anxiety was increased with the pain and stepped out of the bathroom into his room. 

His headspace became woozy and he didn't know what to do now, but his body felt incredibly sluggish and the bed was calling to him. The light from the curtains was warm, but it was beginning to bother him. His head throbbed as he walked towards the blinds, shutting them with a deep sigh. He took one look at his bed and practically melted into it with pitiful emptiness settling into his stomach. He wrapped the blankets around himself slowly and let his eyes shut manually. This felt like this was the first time in so long he allowed himself to sleep naturally.

And sleep he did. His mind had finally shut off, and he practically enveloped in thanks at the fact that he was dreamless. He thought if WW3 would happen right now he wouldn't even be able to open a eye, until someone knocked on his door loudly. He was startled waking up, and it was dark now, maybe even too dark for anyone to be awake. He was really fighting the urge to roll over and just ignore it, but his gut instinct screamed at him to answer it.

"Peter? Erik and I would like to have a word with you. Do you mind if we come in?" His eyes shut tight and couldn't help but sigh heavily, he just wanted to drift off again. To sleep in that dreamless dream that protected him from everyone he knew. Maybe it wasn't that late, since they were still up.

"Nah, it's cool." Ew, the sound of his voice made him cringe inwardly and shuffle further into the blankets until he suddenly realized that the bathroom was still a complete mess. 

He zipped to close the door but his balance was completely off, but he managed to lock it and run back into his abode of blankets without any trouble. That's when the lock clicked and the door creaked open slightly. There was a bright light behind the door and it illuminated Erik and Charles, but only for a moment. Luckily, it was gone once they had stepped in. Instead he crawled up his bed hesitantly and leaned over to switch his bedside lamp on, he now just stared at the two adults standing in front of him once the light was on. Erik had changed clothes since he last saw him, and so had Charles. 

Jesus, he had only been asleep for a couple of hours tops, why the sudden wardrobe change?

They were staring back at him with intense eyes, and they seemed concerned. Instinctively, Peter lifted his knees up to his chest, protecting himself in a way only he knew how. The blankets over his shoulders covering his body was warm, and his eyes squinted. His hair was sticking up in random places, and his movements were slow. He could just tell they were analyzing him.

They were staring at him in such a puzzling way, as if they knew something was off. Peter felt like he was under a microscope, being prodded with only their eyes and It made him want to shrivel up and die. He deeply sighed when he recognized the look Charles gave him. He only gave that look when he was trying to be gentle. Peter bet he didn't know just how silky and calming his voice actually was though, he swears he could listen to the professor all day.

"Peter, where have you been? No one has seen you leave your room for 5 days. Are you quite alright?" His face that was cast to the floor shot up to meet Erik's suspicious gaze and his eyes practically bulged out of his head when 5 days were mentioned.

"You left me in here for five days?" Peter couldn't help but mumble this and Charles cocked his head to the side as he took in what he just said. 

"What?" Charles was confused now. 

"Never mind, its nothing. I uh . . . I've been sleeping, I need it more than . . . Normal mutants." Charles made a sound in his throat in understanding but now Erik was glancing at him with that annoying concern written all over his face.

"Are you saying you've been asleep all this time? And, would you mind explaining why you left the training room in such a hurry? We were expecting you to be the most optimistic when fighting." Erik spoke with a tight hold in his voice, as if he were constantly tense, and it was incredibly discomforting in this moment because Peter's migraine suddenly came back with a punch.

"I am just saying that I sleep a lot. But I swear it wasn't intentionally meant fuck up your schedule, and if you need me to do something, I'm up now." He wanted to avoid the second question, but they looked as if they expected another answer, so he couldn't help but blurt out his thoughts.

"I was . . . I was panicking . . . I had to get out of there." Erik took a seat on his small sofa next to Peter's bed and Charles sat directly onto it, next to his feet. He leaned in and rubbed his calf with pity. Peter eyebrows' scrunched together at the sudden intensity of attention, he desperately tried not to flinch back but he failed and Charles retracted back.

"Why were you panicking, Peter? Did someone say something to you?" His eyes were still intense, but so much softer all the same. Peter couldn't help but put his face in his hands and breathe deeply. He wanted so badly to let someone in, to just let them see that he wasn't well off at all. 

But not surprisingly, after years of keeping it inside his own head it was quite difficult to talk about aloud, let alone tell your father who doesn't know he's your father, who you've looked up to, and the person who could literally see inside your head and the only one who really seemed to care about you the most, and genuinely tell them that you were slicing up your skin whenever the chance bubbled up, that you wanted to end your existence whenever you got too deep into your thoughts, and that you hated yourself so much, you didn't want to feel anything at all anymore.

"I can't." Peter suddenly says, his voice hopeless, "I have to get out of here." It dawns on him how serious this conversation was going and he didn't like it. 

Not one bit.

Charles attempts to put his hand on his chest to settle Peter down but he grabbed it so fast that Charles didn't even get a chance to make contact with him at all. He glanced down at his knuckles and looked at him with that pitiful questioning look, Erik stood when he realized how hard Peter was gripping his wrist.

"You think you understand everything don't you? But you don't care for me. I know that now." His eyes widened as Peter said this, but he was still trying to recover from belting out what he just said. Panicking, he went to stand up only for him to crash down faster than he had attempted to go up. But before his body hit the ground, he felt Erik's arms around his waist, making him vibrate with even more anxiety. He was in the process of falling to his knees with Erik, when suddenly the walls in his mind tumbled down in sync with his body, and he had felt himself project only one word to Charles.

Mirror.

Charles looked at Erik once before standing and walking over towards the bathroom. Peter makes a run to it, out of Erik's arms to go in front of Charles. His breathing picked up again and it made everything more slow for him. He couldn't believe this, he couldn't believe he really let himself be so naïve as to think he could hide from a fucking telepath. 

"This isn't any of your business, and you should leave it alone." His voice was incredibly shaky now, he couldn't help it because he was practically on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. And they're just witnessing it, just letting him let himself be revealed. He watched their faces as he felt his eyes leak with fat, hot tears and there was so much guilt. But Charles had wondered for so long, what was going on in that head of his. He looked at Peter's wrists and flinched, he projected so much pain. In his stomach, on his arms, in his mind.

"Peter, I just want to help you. You don't have to hide from us, we can help you get through this--"

"Don't you lie to me! Don't do that! No one can fucking help me! And if you really think you can, then that means you're not as smart as you make yourself out to be, Professor. I'm so sick of lying and pretending! This isn't some fucking game! Y-You can't just toy with me because you want to know what's going on!" Peter was livid but oh so emotional because of this. He never thought the conversation would turn into this. 

"I'm not toying with you! I never wanted it to be like this for you!" Charles' eyes casted down suddenly. And he took one look toward the bathroom door and saw dried blood crusted on top of the knob. So he shot his eyes back up to Peter in shock.

"Erik, Roll up his sleeves." Peter's breath completely halted when he said this. He could feel his mouth go dry and his chest pound with panic, he was struggling to stay awake, his vision swirled with black dots. Charles was going to be that cruel and come into his mind with a sledge hammer and fuck up everything he built for himself. He tried to look for an escape but Charles had his hold on him halting him from doing anything rash.

"Are you fucking serious? Why are you doing this to me?" He felt so exposed, so ashamed. Felt like he was served on a platter with all of his worst traits and issues on display. 

He saw Erik come towards him with sympathetic hard eyes. "Please, don't do this." Their eyes met when he said this and Erik couldn't help but sigh shakily at the look. Erik was about to pull his sleeves up himself but Peter flinched hard, dropping to the ground. 

"I got it! I'll fucking do it!" He was sobbing now and felt so hurt when he looked at Charles, the man he thought he trusted. He felt his sleeve and pulled it down enough to take the shirt off entirely, and he sat as he could feel both of them run their eyes down his arms, completely speechless at the sight of the ragged bloody lines. He looked up at Erik, who just crossed his arms and looked to the floor, almost confused.

That's when Peter couldn't take this anymore. His father, he knew now, he knew that he hurt himself when he couldn't handle day to day life, he knew how easily it was to make him cry, he knew how weak he was underneath this exterior, and there was no feeling like the feeling of absolute loss and rejection Peter felt in that moment looking at him. 

"What did you do to yourself?" He suddenly asks but just the way Erik had said it was what made him want to die. Charles witnessed this and watched as Peter looked toward the bathroom. He turned to it and reached for the knob. Now Peter was alert, they didn't He was going to run again, but Erik held him back.

"Please, Charles! Just leave it alone! Just. . . !" Before Peter could say anything else, he pushed the door open and gasped. The mirror was half in the sink, half on the ground, followed by multiple pills lying about, and dried blood all around the tub and sink, followed by a gross vomit filled toilet.

"God Peter, What the hell happened?!" Erik looked over at the bathroom and his eyes widened at what he saw and glanced back towards Peter, who's throat became tight, so tight that he could barely breathe. If he was breathing, it was shallow and barely even there. His wrists felt like it was enveloped in flames, his legs like jelly and as if he were completely holding it back, He let those walls fucking tumble to the ground.

Erik looked at Charles as tears rolled down his and Peter's face. He was watching his memories from the bathroom and it looked like as if a movie were playing in Peter's mind, he was making him feel those emotions again, and go through that turmoil. He felt like curling up and breaking like a dam, but he couldn't do it in front of his father. He already saw too much.


	3. Slipping Into The Deep End

New Revised Version: February 24th 2021  
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Peter was practically convulsing with anxiety in Erik's arms, using the last bit of strength left in him just to break free of his hold. His face was twisted in shame as he struggled to take his metal wristband off, while also simultaneously trying to be subtle about it. He did this when they were distracted talking, and he couldn't even hear them. His ears rung so loudly that his vision swirled and with it, he ripped the chain from his neck. He felt detached from his own body. 

Erik was much too occupied with Charles telepathically to notice how desperate Peter was trying to wiggle out of the door. Luckily he managed to, and before they could try to stop him, He threw the door open and he stumbled through the paneled door. Surprisingly, he wasn't being held down by his mental will, or put up against the wall by anything metal in the house. I guess they really didn't care for him. 

The kids that were in the hall on their way to bed were looking at him weirdly, and when he ran to the entrance he decided he couldn't blame them. After all, he had never shown anything to anyone regarding his mental health before and so him just standing there with tears running down his face, wrists exposed, he could only imagine what went through their heads. He ran out of sight of the mansion but he heard people calling for him but by then, he was gone.

When he was outside far from people, it was raining heavily, almost pouring down on him. He paid no attention to it, he just needed to run, he needed to leave. He just ran and ran until he couldn't run any longer. He managed to stop after he saw less oak trees and more so city lights. He looked around frantically and saw nothing but a field filled with long grass that reached up to his knees and suddenly, he drops to the ground without his control. His body felt like it was on fire, his mind bled out the worst of his thoughts and he just wanted it to stop. He couldn't believe that Charles knew, that his father knew. He couldn't believe the betrayal he felt, he never wanted to go back. Ever.

This isn't what was supposed to happen, he didn't want this. He can't fucking go back, He refused to see those looks of disappointment on their faces. He felt so alone. He had never felt this alone in his entire life, not even in that damn bathroom. It was like a black hole had formed inside of his chest and was sucking him dry of all his emotions, motivations and any ounce of happiness that he might've tried to have in the past. He wanted to end it so badly because of it, and he tried. He tried so hard but he constantly failed, thinking that maybe if he hides it, he'll be okay. But it always ends the same way.

With everything continuing to fall apart.

He knew deep in his gut that he had to change, but his mind is physically not allowing him to. It was just on this loop of constant self destruction, and he was so tired of it. Tired of feeling like he didn't belong, tired of feeling as if he was nothing to this world. He just wanted someone to truly see him for who he is, instead of the person he puts out to the world. But it was too late, it was over. His chances at redemption were soiled. He'll never forgive himself for what he allowed the others to see.

He felt cold, wet, and emotionally detached from everything around him. He eventually had run out of tears. He could no longer feel the boiling hatred, or the crippling sadness. He was finally empty. Completely drained. Honestly he never once thought that this was what his life was going to be like. When he was a child, nothing had ever mattered to him. His looks, the way he spoke, the way he walked and held himself up, the color of his hair or his shaggy tired face. But now, it was all he ever thought about. He was so tired of punishing himself, but a part of him really believed that he deserved it. He had never did anything for anybody in his life. He only ever showed off. He couldn't stop his Dad from trying to assassinate the president, he couldn't save Scott, He almost got himself fucking killed by the demi-god, and he couldn't even save Raven from Jean. His own friends . . . 

Between his mindless thoughts, there was this loud whirring noise coming from above him. He tried to ignore it but his ears started to ring because of it, now forming a migraine that pulsated behind his eyes. He tried covering his ears with his hands tightly, screaming at the sound. It was becoming all the more painful the more he tried to resist. The wind was blowing around him faster than ever before and it took Peter about 2 seconds to figure out what the noise was. A fucking helicopter landing 10 feet away from him. When he attempted to stand warily to run he felt the wind knock out of him and flashbacks came to him from when he first came to the school and rescued those children from the blast, and before he could even think, something threw him back onto the ground. He groaned loudly in response and saw black dots start to cloud his vision before he passed out.

Is he ever gonna stop passing out?

***

"Peter! I'm sorry!" Charles called out to him before he ran, but there was no way he was stopping the boy from leaving. He felt panicked, because he believed Peter would do something horrible to himself. But obviously, he already had, and Charles felt immensely guilty at the thought. He wanted to stop him before he left the grounds though, but getting inside his head was like trying to work yourself into a Tornado. Erik grabbed a hold of the other man's arm before he could attempt to stop him.

"What did you see? What was he thinking when he did this?" Erik's voice had never wobbled like that before, and Charles couldn't resist telling him.

"He's . . . God, he's in so much pain." Charles' voice was watery and wavered when he remembered what he felt when Peter finally let him in. His mind was like no others he had ever seen, it was desolate, and cold. All he had felt was complete exhaustion, followed by the intense waves of loneliness.

"I can still feel his . . . Darkness . . . all around me. He loathes himself, Erik. He doesn't want to live anymore. He- he tried to kill himself, and I-I didn't even hear his cries! I couldn't hear him--!" Charles was practically trying not to break down at this point and Erik felt himself shiver with pity. He couldn't help but wrap his arms around him, pulling him in softly, even though he felt as if he should be hugging Peter instead.

There was something about that boy that Erik couldn't put his finger on, like he could almost see himself inside him. That's partly what motivated his decision to check on him with Charles. As soon as they walked in, the sight was that of overwhelming concern. Of course, neither of them commented, but Erik could practically smell the stench of sadness rolling off of Peter, it was intoxicating.

"What happened to him?" Erik was baffled, before, he regretfully disregarded the kid whenever he had said anything self deprecating, he always thought that he had been joking.

"He's lost his way completely!" Charles was really distraught over this, and he was mumbling to himself. "He seemed so carefree when I first met him, but now . . . his mind has turned completely destructive. He doesn't understand why he's on this earth to begin with. He believes he has no purpose, no reason for living." Charles looked up at Erik with guilt.

"And . . . you . . . It's mostly you he thinks about." Charles didn't even try to let that slip, because of his mumbling though, it did anyway.

Erik started unravelling his arms from him in surprise. He almost looked offended and Charles felt resentment crawl up his own spine because this was definitely not his secret to tell.

"What do you mean it's me? I barely know the boy." Erik thought back to Apocalypse. Maybe the kid resented him for not stepping in sooner. 

Charles put his forehead on Erik's shoulder in defeat and sighed. He had to tell him now, Peter will be incredibly angry, but he needed to know. Erik needed to realize that there was still a future to look forward to.

"Peter . . . is your son."


	4. Show Me What You're Hiding

Peter's eyes opened and closed slowly, trying to regain consciousness. He felt disoriented, but still very much awake. He felt someone removing something sharp from his arm. He was so confused and for a split second, he thought he was in the school. He knew he had left, and passed out after the helicopter dropped. But that was it. He tried to move his arms but they were restrained by something, and that's when his eyes flew open completely, when he realized that he no longer could move. The light above him was so white that it made his eyes dry and start to burn.

"What the fuck . . . ?" His voice was small, barely could be heard over the constant buzzing coming from somewhere he couldn't place, but he was 50% sure that it was the lights. He lifted his leg, and realized that he was strapped down from head to toe. There was two around both his arms and legs. And two large ones around his torso. They strapped his biceps and forearms down, both thighs were unable to move as well.

"No," He whined, and struggled against them, almost rubbing his wrists raw against the leather straps. He flailed then, crying out at the thought of being contained like an animal.

"It's alright. You're in my care. From now on, everything's gonna be just fine." The voice was familiar, but there was no one around him. He couldn't figure out where he was to begin with. The air smelt of salt water, like an ocean. But there was also a distinct smell of metal and copper. He looked around the room with fear, realizing this isn't right, and everything was not fucking fine.

"Where the fuck am I?" He struggled to get the words out of his throat, because it was closing tight. The reality that he had been . . . kidnapped, sunk in painfully. And he wanted to start crying again. But that empty feeling still lingered inside his chest and wouldn't allow him to.

"I've come to make you stronger, my boy. Something nobody's ever seen before." The accent had a hint of Southern, but was firm and strong, and as the voice echoed inside his head, he felt like he heard it once before. And flashes came back to him, being locked in that room with Raven and the others, finally telling his secret that he held in his throat for 10 years. Logically, this was all starting to sink in. He knew that voice. Of course he had.

"Striker . . . you motherfucker." Peter was furious, he had allowed himself to be caught by him? How fucking pathetic. William sighed and Peter heard footsteps coming near him. He got a good look at his face, and suddenly was ashamed to be looked under like some experiment. He's overheard and seen way too much of this snarky bastard from the X-Men, but seeing him face to face like this, poured hot anger into every single one of his veins.

"You're smarter than you look you know. But . . . what's with this?" He traced his finger down Peter's forearm, "Why'd you do that? Is it because you knew you weren't good enough for him? Or was it when you realized that you were always too late trying to save yourself and so many others. Think of how many people you let die, Peter! How could you!? Aren't you apart of the X-Men?!"

Peter's breath hitched as he fought off a sob when his heart panged in defeat. He could feel the hot tears brim the corners of his eyes but he looked away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to him but fuck, the haunting reality hit him at full force. Striker's right and deep down he knew he wasn't getting out of here anytime soon, no one was coming to save him, and he'll probably rot in this place along with other kidnapped mutants. But as the realizations enveloped him, his emptiness turned into pulsating anger when he pictured the thought of children being next to him, in a padded cell, crying and pleading for their mother in dirty grimy clothes.

"Eat shit and fucking die." He gathered as much saliva and mucus from the back of his throat and spat on his face. Striker laughed as he wiped his face before giving Peter a full blown punch to his jaw. Peter grunted loudly, the urge to roll over was taking a hold on him but he physically couldn't move any part of his body except his head. He felt the side of his mouth throb and the taste of copper left him uneasy, spitting the blood on the side of his failed attempt at a 'bed'. He wanted to laugh too, but his jaw was fucking burning, to the point where he couldn't even move it if he wanted to.

"I think you broke my goddamn jaw, you piece of shit." Even talking made him wince but he didn't let that show, even though he was broken down, he wasn't going to be treated like some fucking dog. Striker smiled in satisfaction upon hearing this, and put his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Good . . . Now you can be a little quieter." Peter shook underneath his touch, and it suddenly came back to him that he had fucking powers, and he wasn't as helpless as he thought. But something was blocking him, and he sighed in defeat. Realizing Striker was also more smarter than he looked.

"You know, I've been thinkin'. How in the hell were you able to make these . . . weapons . . . without ever being detected? I know who you are and what you've done to the mutants in the 10 years of us outing ourselves. Surely someone would have to kill you soon enough." Peter couldn't control his mouth, he was saying everything that came to his mind. He was already in the hole, might as well dig a little deeper

Striker's brow was raised, "Is that a threat?" Peter laughed loudly when he said this, feeling his chest vibrate and spasm with adrenaline now. The image of his brothers and sisters were becoming fuel for him.

"No, it's a fucking promise." A surge of energy shot through Peter's body, allowing him to rip both arms out of the restraints, grabbing Stryker's head and turning his body around, quickly snaking his arm around his neck as tight as he could. Every single ounce of his soul drenched in the feeling of him struggling, he heard his surprised gasps come out in short bursts and Striker's hands flew to his face, Peter only tightened his grip, clenching his teeth tightly, waving away his hands from his face.

"You picked the wrong fucking person." He growled in his ears, and in response, William let out a choked wheeze, eyes wide, slowly becoming bloodshot.

Just before he could do any real damage, the doors flew open and five armed soldiers ran through, their attire made him feel a tad bit proud of himself, they were clothed as if they were going to war, with grenades on their sides, face paint and hands full, carrying about a couple rounds of an AK on their belt. He sighed heavily upon seeing them, knowing that if he didn't let this man go, he'd fucking die. But if he did, he would be willingly allowing himself to give up easily, and that wasn't something that he wanted to do either.

Suddenly, the decision wasn't up to him, because they shot him straight in the neck, he panicked when he felt them pierce his skin. He felt three circular metal devices with his fingers, but before he could possibly make a sarcastic comment about them, his body became incredibly cold, and then numb, making him fall back onto the hard surface he was once strapped to. He felt his entire body shut down, again passing out without his fucking consent.

***

He didn't wake peacefully this time, he felt ice cold water being poured on his body and couldn't help but to scream out at the sudden awakening. His breathing was ragged and quick. The room was different now, completely white, and he was strapped in a chair now, but with metal restraints around his entire body. If only magneto had went with him, He sighed deeply as he slowly came to realize that he was never gonna get a fucking break. Striker slapped him when he started to doze off in his thoughts, breaking Peter's focus and turning to scowl harshly at the man responsible for his current misery.

"You're lucky to be alive. I wanted to bash your fucking face in. But I'll forget that stunt for now, because we've got a lot of work to do on you." He was circling Peter, amusing himself.  
"We heard about your relationship with our dear friend Magneto, and couldn't help but want some information, so we can meet again." He walked over to a tray about 5 feet away from where Peter sat, he was uncomfortably frightened, and he just wanted to go home.

He held up a large needle, but was twisted inside a large tube by a huge contraption, the object almost looked like a gun. He smiled when he saw Peter staring at it intensely, trying to gulp down the bubbling anxiety.

"You're going to help us get Magneto. We're sending you back to that school. And you're going to do whatever you have to do to get to him." Peter looked at him as if he grew another head.

"Hell no! I'd never fucking do that! I'd rather die. Just fucking kill me already, I can't do that. Do you know how many times I've saved them? I can't just turn around and turn on them, on my family!" Striker clicked his tongue as he walked closer to the quivering quickster.

"That's where this comes in. Its a little concoction I've created to help . . . stabilize mutants to obey orders, and follow every command given to them." Peter's eyes closed tightly, Jesus fucking christ . . . why does this shit always have to happen to him?

Does he not realize that those fucking serum injections he gives doesn't work?

He shouldn't even let him know. It'll wear off eventually, right?

It had to.

His metabolism was much too fast for medicine.

His thoughts were cut short by a sharp sting going inside his neck, he thought that maybe he'll fall asleep like he usually did. But to his horrifying realization, he wasn't going out of it this time. He felt that needle break his skin, and push it's way inside a tiny vein close to his throat, the needle being at an intimidating 5 inches. His eyes immediately filled to the brim with tears and he thrashed against the pain.

Then as if a switch was flipped inside, his eyes turned a haunting white color, staring straight ahead. Face completely emotionless. Even his limbs went limp, becoming completely compliant. Striker's face was pleased, and he scoffed sarcastically at the look on Peter's face. He put his fingers under his chin, lifting his lifeless eyes up to him.

"You will go to the mansion and collect your father. You will report back to me with the news of capturing the only thing more valuable than you. Do you understand?" Peter was silent for a moment, a twitch in his eye.

"Yes, sir."

***

Erik was pacing, mumbling frantically to himself, trying to piece together this family puzzle, trying to figure out who he could've possibly let into his life to have fucking unprotected sex with. The list was that long, since he hadn't really let anyone in for a very long time, it was obviously way before . . . Nina. He sighed shakily as the images of his family came back to him, and he realized that his son too, was completely broken and unfortunately inherited the self loathing he felt on a day-to-day basis from him. Erik couldn't help but feel guilty because of it, he needed to do something. To say something.

Anything.

He can't just leave like he originally intended to, he had family here, somewhere. Charles was right . . . he always was. He needed to make it up to Peter though, whether he knew or not, it needed to be done. He was tired of letting his only son suffer in silence, crumbling in his own darkness, he will not let him become like himself.  
A disaster.

He ran to Charles' study and pushed the door open hard. It made the man flinch behind the desk, he was trying hard as the hours passed to figure out where Peter had gone. He glanced at him with a look that made him feel determined.

"Erik? Are you alright?" He never could get over how he talked to him so easily, as if he wasn't a cold blooded monster.

"You're not a monster, Erik! You've been though so much, I honestly think you deserved so much better than what you got." Of course Charles had caught those running thoughts, he wasn't even surprised he had even answered them. It used to really piss him off though, he hated it when he just popped in and prodded without warning. That's why he wore the metal helmet. But he had to constantly remind himself that this isn't Charles' fault. He can't control what he hears outside of concentrating on a person. 

"I have to talk to Peter. I need to talk to my son. I want to see him. I need to see him." His voice wobbled, he was on the edge of a mental combustion. He could feel the metal in the room start to shake as his heartbeat became erratic.

Charles stared at him in concern, and he was about to say something to Erik to calm him down but . . . he suddenly felt a familiar presence on the school grounds but their mind wasn't . . . operable per say. It was as if it were completely locked. He tried to worm his way in but a sharp pang made him flinch when coming in contact.

"Charles! What is it?" Erik's eyes were wide. Charles looked dazed, but he focused. He lifted his fingers, signaling him to wait. He looked as if he were trying to desperately find something. He gulped his fear down, finally after a long stagnant silence he said,

"Someone's here." 

Erik immediately shot out of the room, Charles attempting to follow behind in his wheelchair, trying to keep up with the man.

"Wait! I don't think its-!" But Erik was gone before Charles could say anymore, he hopped down the stairs, and suddenly heard kids start to scream near the front entrance.  
Hank was by him in mere seconds, along with Raven and Alex all with confused expressions present.

"What the hell is going on? I didn't even hear any sounds!" Hank was usually on top of his game so he looked incredibly confused but they continued through the halls with Erik, blazing through the kids as best as they could.

When he finally reached the source of panic, Erik couldn't help but halt in his tracks when he saw who was standing at the the door. Next to two other mutants, their eyes white around black pupils, stood Peter, his son. They looked as if they were analyzing the entire building. He looked so pale, they saw him only yesterday and he looked so different. 

"Peter?!" As soon as his name came out, he felt the wind knock out of his lungs as he was thrown against the wall. He looked at Peter in shock, his heart clenched in agony as he stared at him with a betrayed expression, incredibly confused. 

Peter zipped away suddenly, coming in contact with Erik again, and held his fist up. He was just about to use every ounce of force in his body to hit him before Alex attempted to throw him off, grabbing him from behind tightly, But Peter was quicker than that. He twisted Alex's hand that was on his shoulder and punched him square in the face, throwing him far back, his blows enhanced by his speed. Erik just stood there, absolutely bewildered. He couldn't move, couldn't speak.

Charles! Where are you!?

We fucking need help.

Right now.

He then watched from the ground Peter slowly walking up to Raven, and he could of swore he saw him smirk as Raven made the first punch. He dodged it almost naturally, and responded with two fatal punches to her side. Erik could practically hear the bones crunch in response to his fists. Hank sprung into action after he saw Raven slump onto the ground, and successfully managed to punch Peter as hard as he could, But he looked as if he ate it, shaking off the punch as if it were nothing. Peter grabbed the underside of his arms and flipped him across the room with as much energy as he possibly could, throwing Hank across the stairs, near Raven.

Erik finally decided then that this needed to stop, immediately. He was only paralyzed for that moment because, dear god this was his son that they were fighting right now, not some goddamn villain with the intentions to kill just to kill. He was one of them, he was fighting his own kind. That was the only thought that finally made Erik useful. He began to lift every single scrap of metal in the room towards Peter's direction, but before he could do anything to him, he saw Peter turn around and look at him with a blank face, before he disappeared.

His eyes were wide, scared even. Was he gone? Just like that?

He felt a double tap on his shoulder as soon as the thought crossed his mind, and he knew he had spoken too goddamn soon. His body became a ragdoll then, being hurled, and beaten from every angle before even hitting the fucking ground. The pain was unlike anything Erik had ever felt when he was finally on the ground, everything hurt inside, and it was searing into his brain, making even the thought of it throb under his eyes.

"Peter?! What the hell do you think you're doing!?" He was thrown against the wall when Erik looked up. He saw Charles, holding Peter in place with his fingers up against his temple. Erik began moving the metal and placing it all around him, securing him in an almost miniature cocoon, he couldn't get out, Charles made sure of that. Erik couldn't stand, didn't dare try to even move. He overheard a soft groan come from Alex as he glanced at Jubilee coming and picking him up. Kurt helped Raven and Hank and blasted them to infirmary, while Charles held a hand out for Erik. He took it gladly, hissing harshly at the sharp jabs he felt on his body.

Peter was struggling wildly, his eyes frantic but determined all the same. Erik came up to him slowly, staring at him in concern and unease. This was not his son. At least, not at the moment. It couldn't be.

"Charles . . . what the hells happened to him?"

"They've turned him into a weapon."


	5. Is this the Right Mountain?

This chapter has been my mood for the past year and a half, I decided It was better for me to write it all down.  
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He woke in a daze, his mind foggy. He felt like his entire body was muffled, shut out from the rest of the world. Locked in some internal cage, with no control over his movements, or his decisions. He felt somewhat at peace next to this panic, he knows he shouldn't, but those days when they were torturing him left him hollow and ashamed, broken down and weak. He gave into feeling the internal suffocation, because it was the easiest thing to cling onto without the existential dread coming from his thoughts. Stryker was breaking him as the hours flew by, he wanted to resist, but there was no strength left in him after two hours of constant blows to the head, stomach and wherever else they felt he would feel in due time.

Even though it had been mere hours, Peter felt like he was so close to throwing in the towel, and letting them kill him. They always left him on the edge, just a sliver away from the external bliss like he so desperately wanted, but never giving him that satisfaction, which was getting incredibly depressing to say the least. He learned the basic rules within the few hours of being inside his cell, he was bound to eventually but, don't think he never put up a fight, he always did, it just lessened more and more after he realized that he was completely fucked. He wasn't leaving this place. This was home until he could find something to kill himself with. He missed his mom, and his little sister and quite surprisingly, his father. He was thinking about him a lot, more than he previously thought he would. He never thought about the man this much in his entire life, but now, he was always present.

Ashamedly, he was silently praying that they would come for him, that they could realize just how long Peter was gone and search for him, but he reminded himself of the conflict he left behind at the mansion, how they witnessed his post-suicide attempt behavior, and his mangled wrists, along with his deepest insecurities. He lost his dignity that day, along with his respect for the professor. He thought maybe he'd spare him, not let Erik see what he was truly going through. But he was wrong, so very wrong. It was almost as if Charles was against him completely now, or at least, that's what his mind convinced him. Despite his rational reasoning, Peter was starting to hate him, along with the other X-Men who happened to witness him in such a state, which meant that it was all the more easier for William to break him down and turn him against his family.

He had absolutely no control over his body after the fourth hour, when they whipped him until he bled heavily, water boarded him until he almost drowned, starved him of nutrients for hours on end trying to train his body to ask for everything, and slowly but surely, he gradually learned that he didn't deserve food, I mean, he had that mindset to begin with but now someone was confirming it for him, making sure he really understood. William filled his head with so many negative aspects about himself he didn't even think about that even when he was in his cell, all his thoughts were literally turning to destroy him from within. When he finally slept inside of his mind, he was scared. 

Peter really felt like he disliked almost everybody in the mansion, but he knows he would care if they got hurt. The worst part of it all, is that William knows this now, and makes him aware of what he's about to do, all the guilt and shame that will bubble up once he's done with him, once he had magneto and all the other kids to experiment on. 

When that day finally came, when he was allowed him to leave Alkali lake, he sped to the mansion with two others in his hand. As he did so, he had no thoughts running through him, just pure, sick panic. He could feel the spider in his chest, clawing its way through but he felt trapped inside his own body, aware of what he was doing, of who he was going to fight, but no matter what he willed himself to do, his body would not cooperate.

He was dying inside, practically sobbing when he saw his father being flown across the room by his own hands, watching it happen through his traitors eyes. If he couldn't forgive himself before this, he never will now. Quite suddenly, as he fought through the adults, his sensations started to come back. His sense of touch came, but he wished to god that it hadn't, cause he could physically feel Mystique's ribs crack under his knuckles. He was screaming on the inside now, willing for someone to hold him down, because he was heading for his father then, throwing him around as time slowed, just as he did with apocalypse.

Such an image made Peter flinch on the inside, he hated thinking about that incident, how his punches were practically non-effective to the massive blue demigod. How was he supposed to know that he had regenerative healing?

He hears the professor's voice suddenly, and it raises the hairs on Peter's neck. He's thrown against the wall then, and the traitor inside him is fuming, he could practically smell the smoke. Thoughts full of venom filled his head then, telling him to finish them off, telling him to get it over with. He wonders where the other two mutants that came with him went, but he was 90% sure that the X-Men took care of them before himself. He watches Charles pick up his father, and suddenly all Peter wants to do is comfort the man when he sees him flinch, but he knows that it's his fault, and it makes the spider on his chest ten times bigger.

He couldn't hear what they said to him next, he was too caught up in trying to take back what was once his, but the traitor in him was not letting up, not showing any sign of any weakness whatsoever. Before he had a chance to yell out, he felt his body slump against the metal hold and he's so relieved that he thinks that he might cry. Charles then tells Alex to take Peter to his room, where he can sleep off whatever they injected into him. He turns to Erik and stares with a pathetic pleading look in his eyes that tells him, 'Don't go.' Because Erik is so close to doing so, but . . . his son was finally here, back again, yes he was roughed up, but deep down in his soul he knew that he deserved it for deserting Peter at such a young age. As for the others, he had no idea why Peter targeted them, but he was definitely sure that wasn't truly Peter doing the fighting, he had to keep reminding himself of that.

"Stop thinking so much. You're starting to make me form a migraine." Erik shook the comment off and followed Alex to Peter's room, he felt as if he needed to stay by him, by his side to support whatever happened, because god knows he has to make up for all of the times that he didn't. He sat in the chair closest to his bed, heavily sighing once the he melted in the cushion, Charles wheeled towards him and put a hand on his forearm.

"He'll be alright." Charles tried to say this optimistically, but it ended up sounding as if he were questioning the statement himself. Erik shook his head angrily, furious all of a sudden.

"No . . . he won't . . . do you know how much this is going to affect him? He'll become even more suicidal than he already is. We have to do something! I have to fucking do something!" His breathing was coming out quick, and panicked. The realization of Peter's arrival made him feel immense fear, because now, he had something to lose again, It was better when he was a man with absolutely nothing, because then he could allow his anger and hatred towards humans guide his way in finding the Nazis, and the people who hurt his family . . . but no one was hurting his family now, there was no danger . . . besides Peter himself. He's so afraid now, just one look at Peter and he knew that he had passed his goddamn genes to his son.

"Would you stop? Please? I'm so sick of this. I'm tired of hearing everyone in pain all of the time. I feel helpless. I feel like I can't do anything to help him or you or anybody, and you're fueling those thoughts with your own. We have to have hope, Erik. We can't just give up because we fucking feel like it, or because we don't know what to do. But we can help him." Erik's head snapped up when he said this.

"Like when you tried to help me? How'd that go for you, Charles?! No such luck, huh?! I had to see one of my friends get choked to death before taking action in Cairo. I didn't even lift a fucking finger for Peter! Do you know how much pain I could've spared him if I would've just acted sooner?! Look at where we are, Charles! Take a good goddamn look! We are helpless! Can't you see that!? We can't fight for him because there's no one to fight! He's destroying himself and we can't do anything about it! You can't save people who don't want to be saved! Some people just can't forgive themselves, some people can't just 'get over' trauma, some people just need other people to stop fucking overworking them and give them a goddamn break! You've ran him dry! He's saved countless of humans and mutants, he's a better man than I could ever be and he's expected to just move on from what happened that day! No wonder he's losing his fucking mind!" His breathing was coming out in heavy, heated bursts, feeling anger in his cheeks as he fumed. Charles gave him a look that practically said, 'are you done?'

"Erik . . . I know you are angry," He seemed like he was choosing his next choice of words very carefully. "And you are right, we can't save those who do not want it but we still can try. Would you rather us just leave him be? Let him destroy himself by the seams and die? Or would you want to help him?" Erik gave him a dumb look as he inhaled a deep breath.

"Of course I want to help him. But it's not going to be as easy as --"

"No one said that it was going to be." Charles told him before he could finish, and it irked him a bit. He glanced at Peter with wide eyes when he heard him whine in distress. He was about to spring up and try to comfort him, but Charles shot him down, rolling over to the side of Peter's bed and cupping one side of his face, whispering soothing things in his ear that Erik couldn't quite catch. But he felt guilt spring from his chest then, because it wasn't like Charles didn't care, or didn't want to, he just didn't know what to do from here. He was as much clueless as he was.

"I'm sorry," Erik says quietly, "I just feel . . . responsible in a way." He shook his head and sighed. Charles looked up then, still caressing Peter's hair, desperately trying to get him to overcome whatever he was dreaming about.

"My friend, I know it is not your intention to hurt me. I agree with most of the things you said, but like I said before, There is always hope. There was hope for Raven, and for you as well. Just because someone loses their way, stumbles, doesn't mean they're lost forever." And he's heard it before from Charles, many times actually, but it wasn't until now that he fully realized the meaning of that statement.

Erik decides that he was tired of the chair, and crawls onto the bed, and sits next to Peter, staring at him in an odd way. He felt fondness wash over him as he watched him sleep, he felt the same feelings for his daughter, but it's different with Peter, its an undisguised love, something he hasn't fully grasped onto, but he knows indefinitely that it was there. And it wasn't leaving anytime soon. He sees Charles wheel towards him, near Erik's side of the bed, gives him a look and suddenly puts his head on top of Erik's lap, and sighs heavily.

"I'm sorry that this happened." His voice surprisingly was unsteady, and his breathing started to pick up. Erik's brows furrowed in concern, and he reaches his hand up to massage Charles full head of hair.

"Me too . . . me too."

Peter sputters awake, gagging suddenly. He leans over the side of the bed and vomits a sizeable amount of stomach acid onto the floor. His head was swimming in every direction, the world was slowed and it seemed to constantly turn upside down. His thoughts were screaming, that's probably why Charles shot up suddenly, hitting Erik multiple times, trying to attempt to wake him.  
When he managed to, Erik grabbed Peter's shoulders and tried to level him as he raised to his knees. Peter's hearing wasn't all there, he felt his chest rising up and down so many times that his head started to feel light, he was seeing black dots and he was willing himself not to fall back asleep. Erik was trying to hold him upright, but he was finding it difficult to do so, because it's as if the kid is using his full weight to lay back down.

"Hey, Hey! Peter! Look at me! You're safe now! You have to breathe!" He could hear his father's voice as clear as day. And he suddenly latches onto him like he was his only life support available on the earth. He was gripping his shirt so hard as he held his face tightly against his chest. If Erik didn't approve, he never said anything and let Peter humiliate himself. But he was surprisingly very soothing to him, pushing his hair away from his face and rubbing circles into his back. Erik's heartbeat filled his ears and while the rhythm was quite fast, it slowed his breathing down to slow, hyperventilating gasps, he could think a little more thoroughly.

"Where am I?" He had to spurt something out, the silence was deafening, and he could feel Erik tensing as he over thought the situation. To be completely honest, he was expecting to still be in the bunker with William. Flashes came back to him suddenly, and he inhaled sharply at the memory of him almost drowning.

"Please don't let them take me again! You can't let them get me again! But I-I can't be here! This is the first place they'll look for me! They'll kill me! Please!" And then that's when the panic comes crashing over him as he starts to remember everything. What was more scary, was the fact that Stryker told him before the so called 'mission' that he would kill him if he betrayed him.

He starts to remember how much he longed for death each minute they tortured him, how he willed his body to shut down, to finally take its natural course, but it never happened. And he tried, he tried so hard, but nothing ever goes to plan. Peter all but loses it when Magneto starts hugging him tighter. But he can't cry, he just can't. He wants to let go but there was a wall, a restriction keeping him from what he wanted most. He just needed to let it out and not have any fear of anyone judging him.

"No one is coming to get you, No one will ever take you from us now, do you hear me? I will never let that happen to you ever again, not while I'm here. So there's no need to worry, Okay? Everything is going to be just fine." And to Peter's distress, he's yet again thrown into another memory, when William was telling him he was fine, and his internal being knew, in his heart that it wasn't and never will be. He then looks up at Erik with the most sorrowful eyes he had ever seen and pushes him away. He tries to stand up, but his knees almost immediately wobble and his body tries to hit the floor, but he holds himself steady. He notices Charles in the corner on the other side of his bed, analyzing him from head to toe. He looks at Erik again, and sees that he's wearing a thin white t-shirt, with X stamped tracksuit pants, he then sees every bruise, laceration and burn on the man's body, and they all seem recent.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?" His voice was still shaky but he kept it in check. He sees Charles look at Erik with wide eyes and back to him, and for a second Peter thinks he genuinely sees a hint of terror in his eyes.

"Peter, I don't think it's best if we tell you at this moment. You're not in the most stable of minds right now." That told him everything he needed to know, and he thrown back into his memories, the spider, the fight and the trapped feeling and he hitches his breath in realization.

"I . . . I did that." Erik's eyes are wide as he sighs deeply, like a parent telling their child that their goldfish died. Peter took him in heavily, he notices every bruise on his neck, all the way down to his feet, and he's positive that there are more under his clothing. He feels hot all of a sudden and he can't seem to grasp the scene of the moment, he felt detached and the it was beyond intense but he gulps down the burning flood of panic and tries mentally, not to set off any alarms. Charles' brows furrowed together, because Peter seemed calm now, and was barely dripping an ounce of anxiety, which morbidly made him even more worried.

"Can I . . . Can I be alone for a minute?" Erik hesitates before answering.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow that." Peter's surprised to hear this, he scoffs and tries desperately not to collapse, because his legs were turning into jelly now, vibrating against the hardwood floor.

"I'm an adult. I can handle this on my own." He doesn't even believe his own words but he was dying to feel something other than this emptiness that came over him. He needed that itch, that oh so familiar itch whenever things went downhill mentally.

"I'm scared of what you might do to yourself." Damn right, Peter himself was scared, terrified even. Because he knows that once he started, he won't ever be able to stop, he'll keep going until his loses his breath, and exhales his sorrows through his wrists, letting it poor out from his veins, out of his body and onto the cold tile floor. He feels euphoric when these images come to mind, they were never this vivid, this prominent before. Charles couldn't help but pick up on it.

"Since when did you start caring? Don't you have important world dominating plans to plow through? Why are you even here?" Each question makes Erik's shoulders slump down, and now he feels like a dick, because he looks like he's on the verge of tears. And suddenly he isn't so empty anymore, but instead of feeling just one particular thing, he's feeling everything, and he wants it to stop, he just wants it all to be gone, to be over and done with, he was so tired of this. Tired of interacting with others, tired of seeing those pitiful looks, tired of talking, tired of moving, tired of breathing, and he's fucking tired of being tired.

"I can't do this anymore." He blurts out, and makes a run to the bathroom but stumbles as he sees that they've cleaned everything up, the mirror was still in pieces though, and it takes about half a second for Peter to break it again. He sees Erik try to run after him, but he closes the door just before he gets there, and he's pounding his hands on it, trying desperately to make him see reason, and Peter's glad the door knob wasn't metal, he'd have to thank Charles for that later.

He rolls his sleeves up and was in a daze as he tried to find an empty spot on his arm to mutilate, but to his surprise, there was none left, every patch of skin on his wrists were littered his scars, rough at the touch, and he hopes no one ever does touch them, because he's ashamed now, he won't ever be happy when he looks at them, and no one else will either. And he knows it. Just as he's about to make his first cut over the many past ones, he feels the door being ripped open from the hinges and watches in slow motion as Erik throws the glass across the room, and hugs Peter close to his chest.

And all he can wonder is, Why?

Why try to stop him? Why be around him in general? Why does he need to be alive? Why eat? Why sleep? Why talk, or even breathe? 

There's nothing left anymore.

He's just so done with it all. 

Revised edited version: 02-25-21  
Word Count: 3695


	6. Born Into This

Made: 4/20/19  
Revised Edited Version: 2/26/2021

"Let him go, Erik. I said, step away from him!" Charles couldn't ignore the feeling of how detached he felt from Peter, it scared him but he didn't mean to yell. Erik just stared at him in confusion but slowly released the hold on his son. Peter inhaled shakily as he did so and tried to straighten his body out because he felt constricted, but he could feel Erik's arms still wrapped around him mentally so his heart continued to race.

Peter closed his eyes for a second, he tried his best to sigh deeply through his nose and not overwork his thought process. His hand trailed to his sleeve, tugging it down slowly over his shaky fingers while doing the same with the next. He looked out the window while trying not to bring too much attention to himself. He hated how the smallest things like them could practically split his mind in two. Peter looked towards the bathroom again and felt his subconscious shift when he saw the glass lying there, like it was waiting for him.

The thought of it now sounded so terrifying, it was like there this pulsating heat coming from his wrists that made him desperately want to feel it, to see that hot seeping blood flow out of the skin, enticing him to falling asleep, to just let it be over, to let go of everything he's ever cared for because then, he won't have to constantly worry if he's pleasing any of them, or if they're okay, or if he's doing the right or wrong thing, if he's saving everyone from getting hurt because he'll be gone. And so will they . . . eventually, so what's the point in staying here and continuing this constant battle, He's fucking tired and wants to be completely done with everything. The school, other mutants, his physical well being, eating. Everything.

He just needed out. Out of this life. Out of this abhorrent fucking world.

"I need to go." As soon as the words left his mouth, Erik let out a faint strangled sound. When Peter heard him, he became a bit suspicious and turned to look at him with his head tilted. 

"Why are you suddenly so interested in me? I mean, really, y-you . . . you comforted me on the bed, you don't want me to know things like I'm some kid, and now you don't want me to leave? You've never even batted an eye at me until what happened that night, so is it pity? What? Do you feel responsible for apocalypse, because I'm telling you I didn't need you then, and I don't need you now." What is he doing? He's spilled too much, fuck. That wasn't what he intended to say. Erik didn't look surprised like he initially thought. 

"I lost my family, I thought that I could finally get the ultimate revenge by destroying our world and it was selfish, cruel and I didn't think about anyone, not even myself. I had nothing to lose then. I've done a lot of things in my life that I don't regret, and one of them is meeting you, whether you care to know or not, I've always acknowledged you. You saved me from the Pentagon for Christ's sake, saved us all from me in that kitchen, and not to mention you tried to defeat a God." Peter expected resistance, but he felt as if he didn't deserve this. He felt his eyes well up, and he shrunk into himself, sobbing now. Everything about this whole coercing him to stay with them and fight against his thoughts was getting under his skin. He doesn't wanna fight anymore! If anything they're fighting him! Why can't they just let him do what he needs to do? Why is it so difficult for them to accept that he didn't want to live this life anymore?

Erik sighed in a way that made Peter think was annoyance. But his hands were bawled up. "If you still feel that you need to go . . . you know we can't stop you. But really, I'd prefer that you'd stay . . . please." Erik sounded desperate pleading with him, he genuinely sounded caring. It made Peter be at loss for words looking at him. Why has he changed? It's like his entire way of communicating with Peter just shifted over night. It must be pity. He did just get kidnapped, and now thinking back on it he doesn't remember anything besides the torture. Fuck he feels compelled to ask what happened, but right now, he wasn't exactly all that concerned because he was contemplating the decision of sleeping. There was this tiredness washing over him, and he looked at Charles suspiciously. Peter furrowed his brows, and red hot anger burst through him. 

"What are you doing?! Leave me alone!" Erik whipped his head back at Charles with shocked eyes, but Charles looked as surprised as he was. "Peter, I'm not doing anything to you, I swear it. You're exhausting yourself out, you should sleep, please. Just for now, ok?" This felt sincere. So he nodded fast while looking at the floor. The thought of genuine sleep sounded like absolute heaven, like it was the only thing in the world that he ever really needed. He nodded a few more times now, realizing that secretly this was what he was hoping they'd say. "Yeah . . . yeah . . . I could sleep." Erik sighed in relief and Charles rubbed his eyes tiredly. Peter noticed, and felt guilt pang in his gut. He hated that.

"But I--" He wanted to ask Charles if he could take the dreams away but . . . what if he thought he was pathetic because of it? After all, he is a grown man. Charles sensed the discomfort coming from Peter and addressed it politely, trying to avoid him panicking.

"What is it, Peter? Please, you can talk to me about anything. I'll help you in the best way I know how. I promise that you're safe here." Peter looked at his bed and let out a wobbly sigh, his throat closing up.

"Could you maybe . . . help me sleep? I just-! I get really bad nightmares and I don't know how to register whether they're real or not and I really just want to sleep but I can't because I'm so scared and I--!" Erik put a hand on his shoulder and it made him stop rambling. He exhaled deeply, fidgeting furiously as the second's passed.

"Breathe." His stare was intense but Peter followed suit, inhaling slowly while looking at the floor, feeling like a child.

"I'm . . ." He tried gulping down the knot. "I'm really sorry." Charles looked at him, completely exhausted and softly smiled.

"I know, Peter . . . I am too. I really am. But I can help you with this. We'll do anything to make you feel good, okay? We all love you, you're my student but also my family. I'm sorry I made you panic the night you left. I wanted to get to you, but I thought you'd want some space. I never thought that what occurred to ever happen to you, and I'm sorry for that. You need genuine rest and self-care, now come to bed." He was now being guided to it slowly because his body displayed absolutely no will power whatsoever. He felt appreciation but it was dulled out by the thought of burdening them. He couldn't say thank you because of how much guilt he felt.

When he crawled in the blankets, he had only now just noticed how thick the comforter was, and it made him feel secure. Satiating the craving for warmth, something he felt like he generally lacked in the last few days and was glad he was able to feel it again. Charles came towards him and pressed his fingers against Peter's temple, and almost immediately he felt his thoughts drift away, the spider no longer clinging onto him, and let himself sleep.

He thought that maybe he'd wake up in a few hours, call it day and maybe go for a run. But he doesn't. His body continued to feel completely glued to the bed, the warm sheets, the fluffy adjustable pillows, he practically was melted into it. Every time he awoke while turning over, he saw Erik sweeping the hair from his face and immediately dozes back into a dreamless sleep.  
He tried to get up at some point in the day but his eyelids were too heavy, and his muscles felt like bricks when he tried to move them, he rarely did. At one point, Erik had a fleeting thought that Charles may have genuinely put the kid in a coma.

Honestly, after a few days of watching Peter sleep, he became more and more concerned by the minute. He had never seen someone sleep this much, and he felt that familiar feeling of helplessness. Charles sensed his distress from all the way across the school and sighed gently, heavily convinced that at this point, Erik will never leave the speedster's room. But he couldn't blame him, he hadn't done anything besides what Peter asked.

Peter was starting to stir and Erik puts his book down on the side table, wanting him to wake up. At least to eat something. He looked so pale, and he would shake sometimes in his sleep. Every few hours Erik put a compact mirror under his nose to check if he was still breathing.

"Peter? You've been asleep nearly a week. You have to at least go to the bathroom." Once he mentioned it, Peter felt as if his bladder was completely inflamed. He groaned loudly, not even caring that Erik probably thought he was immature. He genuinely did not feel like moving. What he did feel like doing was crying at the thought of actually trying to do it.

"Could . . . you, " Peter trails as his eyes begin to close again, drifting back to the abyss.

"Hey!" Erik snaps. Jolting him awake again. "Could I what?" Peter inhaled heavily and tried his best to get his lips to move. He felt embarrassed now.

"Help me up . . . please." Erik immediately went on the right side of the bed, grabbing one of Peter's arms and putting it over his shoulder. Peter whined as he stood, feeling his legs wobble underneath his weight.

"Are you hungry?" He had to ask. He hadn't seen the kid eat at all since he's been here.

Peter shook his head slowly, "No . . . just tired, an'dizzy." He led him to the bathroom and closed the door. He had to lean on the wall to hold himself up while using the toilet, and he felt shame bubble up inside of him.

Once he was finished, he flushed and went to the sink. He pumped soap into his palm and turned the water on, avoiding the mirror while washing his hands. He looks toward the tub and noticed his razor by the shower door. His breath halted with need, suddenly much more awake now. He shuffled his feet forward towards it, bending down slowly to pick it up. He twisted it around in his hand before looking to the door.

***

He turned the sink on again and locked the door quietly. He rolled up his sleeves and broke the skin as he glided the metal down his wrists. God he hadn't felt like this in so long it, it had been days and he knows he has a streak. When he pushed, there was a big part of him that wanted to push deeper, to completely puncture his artery so he could bleed out on the floor and finally let it be over but, before he could entertain the thought, Erik knocked on the door loudly, making him drop his razor. He hurriedly picked it up before putting it back where he found it. He heaved a sigh of relief as he wrapped a bandage around his arm.

"I'll be out in a second, Sorry." It came out so soft that he didn't exactly believe that Erik had heard him. But he flushes the toilet again to seem innocent, and rolled his sleeve back down. When Peter walked out of the bathroom, he saw Erik stare at him suspiciously, but it didn't seem to be a questioning, so he believed that he could potentially be okay for now, but then Erik stands from the chair, looking nonchalant, and grabbed Peter's arm tightly, making the younger literally whimper in response.

And then he just fucking knew. The look on his face told him that he was so disappointed in him and he couldn't help but grimace in agony at the thought. Erik tried rolling his sleeve up but Peter yanked his arm back, feeling uncomfortable now. Erik gave him that look, that frustrated, and confused anger look, mixed into one expression. So Peter eased his pull slowly and swallowed down his distress about it while Erik pulled it up, and as soon as he saw the bandage covering his forearm, he sighed. Peter grimaced again, pathetically wanting to cry.

"I need you to stop doing this." He says while Peter looks down in shame.

"Okay."

"No, I'm serious. You need to stop this, okay? This isn't how we handle our problems. This can't be how we handle anything--"

"It isn't that simple." At this point Peter wanted to throw up. He hated confrontation, especially regarding this subject.

"It is that simple! You have no reason for doing this, kid! Yes, you've gone through some shitty situations but you can't take the world's hurt and turn it into yours! That just makes everything worse!"

"I know that okay! I do!" He was starting to hyperventilate, suddenly more scared than ever before, he looked towards the window and thought about hopping the out of it. He couldn't do this. Not this.

"Then why continue!? If you know that it makes things worse!?" Erik's voice was getting considerably louder. "I don't understand you! Why are you like this! What happened to make you hate yourself so much!?" It was like each word was booming in Peter's ears, all he was hearing was Erik's voice getting louder and louder, all he saw was his lips moving furiously, questioning him with such force that for the first time in a very long time, he genuinely feared his father, all he could smell was his breath on his face, all he felt was his arm firing up because of the intense grip Erik had on it.

"Stop yelling at me!"

He swears he didn't mean for it to happen, it just . . . did. He was feeling like a cornered animal, he had to get out of that! He was now 10 feet across the room, crying out against the searing pain he felt while holding his side. Peter's breath went wild, he was holding his shaking hands against his chest. He heard a faint squeaking of wheels and Charles came into the room, looking scared. But Peter felt literally bewildered at himself, Erik's going to hate him. His thoughts were projecting so loudly that Charles flinched hard while trying to hold Erik up. Peter became increasingly more irrational, thinking of ways he could escape this. He took a look at the window like he did once before and suddenly thought that this could honestly be the next best option. He grabbed onto the the pillar with one hand and lifted the glass up.

"Son, I'm sorry! Wait!"

That word

. . . it had made Peter halt in his tracks, his head stopped spinning now and his sensory system came back to him abruptly, stopping all movement.

"What did you call me?" Charles shot Erik a wild look.

"I--" Before Erik could start, Peter put his hand up to stop him.

"You know?" He looks to Charles and the look of shock on his face tells him everything.

"I swear I didn't mean to--"

"Bullshit! That kind of thing just doesn't slip from the greatest minds there is! Don't you have any respect for me!? At all!? I thought I could trust you with that information! But, of course not! Everyone is always gossiping about things they would never understand! I hate you! I hate all of you!" He was emotional, crying as he yelled at him.

"Why are you so angry!? Didn't you want me to know that I was your father at some point?" Of course he did, but he was supposed to tell him. That was h i s privilege. He was supposed to do it when he's ready, but they've taken that from him. So yeah, he's fucking angry.

"Because maybe I don't want you as my father! Maybe I'm ashamed! Ever think of that?! No! You never think about anyone but yourselves! Fuck all of you!" He put his legs on the window sill and hopped out of the second-floor window after saying this, his speed carrying him to the ground. He didn't even see their reactions but he was sure he just crushed Erik. He shook his head violently, tired of thinking of other people's feelings instead of his own.

He didn't exactly know where his feet were carrying him but he didn't think about that. He thought mostly about where he could possibly go for the night. But he was craving something, something that could potentially ruin everything. He stopped to catch his breath. Looking around intensely, not trying to get in another predicament that left him literally scarred for life.

Suddenly he heard screaming around a nearby alley. Of course despite what he told himself, he wanted to see if anyone was in potential danger. He speed-walked over to the broken light post, trying to stay hidden in the dark. He starting hearing one of those racket cages, and thought a homeless person was heading his way, but then the scream came again, and this time it was followed up by laughter. Peter's brow quirked up, and he stepped out of the darkness only to be knocked over by a fucking metal grocery cart.

"Holy shit, Lenny! Slow down! Look what you did!" He couldn't recognize the voice, but he was too focused on the fact that his arm might potentially be broken.

"Whatever! He's fine! Let's keep going!" He looks up to see a guy who looks absolutely batshit crazy and a girl who looked too mischievous to be real.

"I am so sorry! I swear that wasn't intentional!" Before Peter could come up with his own apology about being in the way to begin with, he hissed loudly in response as he stood back up.

"Jesus Christ! When's the last time you ate something dude?" He looked down at himself and shrugged, and for some reason his throat closed up.

"I-I'm sorry. I heard you screaming a couple blocks away and thought something was wrong." The guy gives Peter a giant grin but then analyzes him as the girl sighs heavily, not seeming to want to deal with this unpredicted greeting.

"I'm David, this is Lenny, ignore her, she's incredibly impatient. What's your name?" He spoke fast as he gave him a friendly smile, but it was really dark so Peter was still cautious of the pair.

"I'm Peter, I-" He couldn't believe he was stooping down to this level. "I need a place to stay, do you happen to know where any shelters could be around here?" David's eyes widened.

"Dude no, the shelter's here will literally eat you up and spit you back out. Just stay with us, It'll be an adventure! Right, Lenny!?" She rolled her eyes.

"You don't even know him! He could be a fuckin' serial killer just waiting to chop our bodies up and serve them as fillets!" Peter actually laughed at that, and it felt weird after what just happened at the school. As sad as it may be, he didn't really remember the last time he genuinely laughed. The sound of it had David looking at him like he was the most interesting specimen he had ever come across.

"No, I'm not a serial murderer, I promise." Peter was still smiling and David had not taken an eye off of him from the second he spoke up.

"That's exactly what a killer would say. But you're cute, so I wouldn't mind being axe murdered by you." David responded rather quickly and it made Peter's heart jump.

Jesus Christ he hasn't felt like that in a long time. What the hell is going on?

"So . . . do you wanna go back to the house with us? There are some pretty wild looking things in there, so fair warning--" He stops suddenly, and his focus wasn't on Peter, but behind him in the distance. Of course, Peter being Peter, looked behind him, scared that someone he knew was there, expecting the worst. But as he turned, no one was there. Not Erik, or Charles, nor Mystique. Just blackness, and street pavement. So he looked back at David and saw him shaking immensely, it made him look back one more time for good measure.

"Are you . . . okay, David?" He broke out of his trance from the sound of Peter's voice.

"He's here." He inhaled shakily and started shaking his head fast.

Before Peter could ask who, Lenny spoke up. "Alright! I think that's enough outside play for one day!" She tried not to show it but Peter was taking note of the fact that she too was noticing how increasingly scared David was becoming. "So what's the plan? You comin' with us, pretty boy or not?"

" . . . " This was once in a lifetime opportunity, but what if they were the people they accused him of being? They could easily chop him up too!

"Well!?" Lenny was starting to get impatient. "It's now or never."

Fuck, this better not backfire on him.

"Yeah . . . Yeah I'm coming."

Words: 3716


	7. Escaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How yall feeling about meeting david?

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUBSTANCE ABUSE AND SELF-HARM

"So . . . what is it that you do? Why are you even here in the middle of the alley anyway?" His mouth immediately clasped shut, these were strangers. He honestly had no idea whether or not he was gonna get ax murdered in this alley but then again, trying to commit suicide was a failure so maybe being murdered would potentially get the job done. He looked over at David in the shopping cart and cringed. He seemed so . . . afraid of everything, but so disoriented at the same time. Peter couldn't decipher him, and he was usually able to read people's motives pretty well. 

"I uh . . . I was an X-Men, I guess. It didn't really work out though. I'm not really the hero type honestly. I was actually thinking of teaming up with my sister but I don't think she wants me to. I practically betrayed her." Peter didn't know why he started talking, but it felt rude to just ignore her. Plus . . . she didn't seem so bad. David just looked . . . scary honestly. Peter didn't know if he was gonna hurt him, or hurt himself. And He didn't speak up that much, but when he did, he stuttered and made his voice sound small. It made Peter think he was ill, I mean, he definitely looked sick. He was paler than him, and his skin held sores. His under eyes were heavily sunken in, same with his cheekbones. It made him wonder if David had ever eaten in his life, but then again, Peter wasn't so good at eating either. 

Silently, and surely, Peter started to relate to David. They still walked, wherever they were going, while David sat happily in the grocery cart. Peter took a look at their outfits, seeing David with a leather jacket and striped shirt with jeans, made Peter make a mental note to ask if he liked Pink Floyd. 

"Wait! Lenny! Stop! Are we using the vapor tonight?" David's entire body shifted around to talk to her and Peter could tell he was anxious, but he had no idea of what. Maybe it was just because he was a junkie, or maybe he saw something that someone else couldn't see, maybe even heard something we couldn't hear. 

"David, I told you already, we don't have any money." David's head banged against the backside of the cart as he groaned. Peter perked up at the mention of money. 

"I . . . I have some cash. A few 20's I think." Peter knew he regretted it the minute he spoke up about it, but . . . maybe he didn't. Because that bright smile that lit up David's face was absolutely wonderful and worth it. Even though, Peter knew, he was enabling them to buy their drugs. He knew what the vapor was, he had experimented with it in high-school briefly, but then his mother scared him, saying that it could potentially make him slow. 

But now, he didn't care. To be completely honest, he stopped caring about his well-being a long time ago, although he did think about what his father might think of him, but then that thought immediately was cut off because, to hell with him, he never gave a shit anyway. With this, he caught up to Lenny and David. He thought to himself, this could be his family. This could be the people that could give him the answer. The will to live. Something to look forward to. 

And as soon as David turned and smiled at Peter real slow, He knew, that this was where he wanted to be. Even if in the end, he did actually end up getting murdered. He didn't know why, but he felt so drawn to David, even though he felt a bit intimidated by his looks, he wanted to know his story, his life, his struggles. Peter never felt like that, he always thought of himself. All his thoughts, and obstacles were his and his only, but David looked worse off. He wanted to know why. He's never concerned himself with anyone before, so just the thought of 'why does he look like that.' was like an attack to his selfish subconscious . 

"Alright, David get out. Just show- . . . what was your name again?" Lenny pointed at him confused, but like she was frustrated with herself. 

"Uh Peter." He replied awkwardly.

"Right! Yeah! Show Peter the house, and where he can stay." David quickly nodded at her and motioned for me to follow him.

"Wait . . . I can stay?" Peter was filled with disbelief. I mean, who the hell lets someone stay with them thirty minutes after meeting? "Uh . . . yeah? What else are you supposed to do?" I guess they do. 

"I'll be back with the good stuff!" Lenny called behind her as she walked away. 

Peter followed David inside after he lifted the side window in the house. He looked at him oddly when he did this, but David explained that he just forgot his keys. It was suspicious but . . . Peter decided to believe him and crawled in after him. The house had this musk to it that reminded him of the homeless shelters he used to volunteer for. There were random art pieces that looked wonky in this modern sized house, and blow up dolls that looked like they were used. I mean, the bonus was that they had the regular appliances. Like couches, a TV, and a kitchen. I guess the only compliment Peter could give was that it seemed pretty homey. 

"So . . . " David jumped on the couch Peter decided to sit down on, "You said you were an x-men." Peter nodded and kept his hands together, while David sat with his hand on his chin, like the topic of the conversation was the most interesting thing he's ever heard. 

"Key word, were." Peter gave him his best smile, and David's eyes fluttered at him for a split second.

"Wait, why? What happened?" He sat up a bit, shifting to lean on the side of the couch, facing Peter.

"Well . . . long story short. My mental health is pretty unstable. I had gotten kidnapped and was forced to fight my family basically. So they probably hate me for it. And tonight . . . it was just too much. They wanted me to fight for the world, even though I wasn't even fighting for myself." 

"No, no, no. They don't hate you, how could they? You were obviously fighting against your will, man. And being mentally unstable sucks, trust me I would know. So I get where you're coming from." Peter crooked his head in a silent agreement. 

"Yeah, I don't know, I mean, I was never like this before. I could tolerate it, you know? I just did it and now I can't do it." His heart started to pound while talking about this. 

"Can't do what?" Peter exhaled a shaky breath, unfortunately David noticed. 

"Have you ever tried talking about all of this in the past? Even when it was high functioning?" Peter shook his head, all the while trying to keep his breathing somewhat under control, it wasn't working and David decided to fill that silence.

"Well just know that I'm one the most fucked up people you could meet. Not morally obviously, but mentally and emotionally for sure. I see things sometimes, and hear them too. When no one else can and its incredibly frustrating when no one believes you, or everyone thinks you're crazy. I used to think I could move things with my mind. I still kind of do to be completely honest with you. And to have only bad coping mechanisms is a really fucked up cocktail. You can talk to me about everything and nothing and I will never judge, just understand or try to understand." Peter's breathing had calmed as David kept talking, and before he could even say thank you, Lenny walked through the door. 

"Mama's home!" She said it like she was expecting tons of people to greet her back, even when it was just him and David. She waved the bag and David immediately shot up from the couch and grabbed the frog that had been on the floor. He twisted off the head and put it to his side. Peter could see his rib-cage when he sat like that, it made him want to know why. 

Lenny dropped down beside him, and opened up the droplet container and held it up for David to see. "Why is it Blue?" He asked, genuinely. 

Lenny scoffed and laughed quietly, "It's always blue."

She unscrewed the cap and pinched the rubber on top to fill the droplet with the blue liquid David was so entranced by, and dropped the liquid into the frog and screwed the top back on, while David put the frog's head back. He moved back towards Peter and smiled a smile that was almost contagious. 

"What now?" Peter couldn't help but ask. 

"We wait." David responded lowly, like the only thing on his mind was the anticipation for the smoke. Peter clasped his hands together and swallowed harshly. The last time he tried doing this he threw up everywhere.

His breathing started to become harsher again, and this time David wasn't there to talk him down from it so it felt like the silence was deafening while they were waiting. His legs felt paralyzed and the only thing he knew he could feel was the razor in his back pocket, he could feel how warm its become while sitting there. The thought of the blood running down his arms, the sting of the slash, the reoccurring feeling of calmness and serenity that came with it . . . it was starting to become the only thought in his head. 

Fuck it. 

He scrambled to move to his side to grab it out of his pocket, the anxiety he felt was blossoming more to his chest and his legs. He wanted to go somewhere private, he willed his body to just get up. But another side of him was telling him to just do it, right here and now, get it over with so he can calm down. And that seemed like the best option. 

He yanked his sleeve up and ripped the razor across his arm as fast as he possibly could, so he wouldn't be able to focus on it until the blood flowed out. He made just one big gash that seemed to be bigger and wider than he had ever done before, it left him feeling satisfied, and he usually isn't satisfied with just one. It always become a mess of gashes and slits until he was able to calm down. 

"Jesus Christ, dude!" Lenny saw first, David was still waiting. But as soon as Lenny said something, David turned and his eyes widened. He quickly shifted to fold himself between Peters legs and held his hand down on his bleeding arm. The fact that Lenny yelled made Peter's 'progress' deteriorate pretty quickly. His breathing picked up and he was shaking now, out of fear that they were disgusted, that they'd ask him questions, that they'd never want him around again. 

"Now, now, none of that." I absentmindedly pushed my fingers into the gash to try and get himself to chill out. "We gotta get you calm another way, alright?" David's voice was so serene all of a sudden. It felt like Charles was in his head, even though Peter knew that couldn't possibly be. He looked at David and saw a bit of Charles in him, which was, quite strange in this moment. His body started to relax on its own as he looked deeper into David's eyes and he felt an odd sense of security and safety. He knew nothing in this moment but David, and David only. Lenny's emotions were pushed away, the surroundings were pushed away, and so were his own emotions. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt at genuine peace. 

"I'm gonna wrap your arm up with ace bandages okay? And then, we're gonna get you out of your head for a while." Peter nodded slowly, like he was hypnotized. He felt like he was, but it was just heavy contentment, because he was still in control of his body. 

"Yeah . . . okay." His voice held no shakiness, no disbelief or anger. Just calm. Safe.

David took a hold of his his hand and led him to the kitchen. He turned the sink's knob to the left and checked it first before putting Peter's arm under the water. He expected questions. Concerns. Life advice. Suggested coping mechanisms. But . . . that's not what he got. Just calm understanding. Like it was like a silent agreement.

"Why aren't you mad at me? Or kicking me out?" Peter finally had the courage to ask. 

"Why would I kick you out when you're in pain? Besides . . . its not like I haven't been in your shoes before. It would make me a hypocrite to be mad." Peter didn't say anything back when David towel dried his arm after cleaning most of the blood. 

"Come here," He said as he walked towards the left side of the kitchen into another room. Peter followed reluctantly and in there, was a tight fitted washroom, but with all the necessary components of a regular bathroom so he couldn't complain even if he wanted to. In there, David wrapped his arm, and clipped a metal piece to the end to keep it in place. 

"You just have these things on hand?" Peter spoke up again, trying not to make this interaction awkward even though it didn't feel that way. 

"Like I said, I've been in your shoes before. I come prepared." He smiled, and Peter couldn't help but worry his lip because of it. 

"Can I see?" Peter asked. He knew that was never the right thing to do, but he felt so comfortable with him. David looked at him sadly and rolled down Peter's sleeve

"That's a sight for another day. Now come on, lets get you out of your head." 

David walked behind Peter as they entered the living room again, Lenny looked at him like she knew what it was like too, but Peter understood why she was shocked. Peter didn't even try to hide it. He just . . . did it . . . right in front of them. The reality of that sunk in at this moment.

"I'm so sorry. I know that was uncalled for." Peter spoke but Lenny just gave him a sad grin. 

"Its alright, I get it. We all have our way to keep the pain at bay. Now lets smoke before it runs out." She said and brought the frog to the table and motioned for me to do it first. 

"You just put your lips together and inhale slowly, I promise It'll make everything better." He could tell Peter was hesitant but as soon as David said those words, he trusted him. So Peter leaned down, put his lips together as if he were going to whistle, and inhaled the smoke that gushed out.

It took him a second to feel it, the rush of euphoria and dopamine coursing through his body, and when that feeling didn't float away like it usually did . . . 

He knew, that this was it. 

2614 words


	8. Something New Needs to Happen Soon

He felt like he could finally breathe for the very first time in his 27 years of life. He felt like a child again, like he could finally fly with only his cape and he could go against anyone who's ever challenged him no matter the consequences. His mind felt like slush, but it was better than it being foggy. Thoughts weren't screaming at him anymore, or at least for now. He felt like he wasn't even here on earth, it felt like he was floating somewhere he knew no one would ever find him. It felt like he was finally able to think clearly, but also not destructively. 

He put his hands in the air, watching the colours follow behind them, and waved them around slowly. Mesmerized by the sudden euphoria that shot through him when analyzing his hands, he let out the loudest laugh. They were like coloured light bulbs, flashing in and out. He felt so fucking happy. The happiest he's ever been in so long, even though the heaviness on top of his chest didn't let up one bit, he still felt like the happiness was real. God was it real! 

"David! This! This is amazing! I've never felt this good in my entire life!" He could feel the grin on his face just get entirely bigger looking at him. They were on the ground, David was lying next to Peter, just as doped up as he felt, but before he could respond back to Peter, he looks at him like he was the scariest thing David's ever seen. He immediately shot up from the ground, seeing the unshed tears gather in his eyes.

"Whoa! Hey, are you okay? What's wrong, what did you see?" Peter felt like his speech was slurred, but he understood himself so he hoped to god David understood him too. He wanted to take this seriously, but the constant pleasant buzz in the back of his head was making it impossible to stay concentrated.

"No, no, I'm alright. I just thought I saw something, it's probably just the trip." He says quickly, but Peter wasn't convinced. A part of him, logically, told him to leave David alone, but another part wanted him to pry for more information. 

"Well . . . what can I do to make it better?" David doesn't say anything at first, just stares at him, and flowers start growing out of his skin and he suddenly gives me a huge smile.

"You're really pretty, you know that?" Peter's eyes widened, not expecting that from him. He didn't say anything back right away. Too caught up in the petals his skin created.

"Uh . . . thank you. Never really been called pretty but I guess its a compliment, right?" 

"Yeah, sorry, I just thought you had to know. I'm not usually this open, it's just," He pointed to the frog. "The vapour," 

"Oh . . . " he said, disappointed. "That's fine, then, I can understand." Peter still felt like he could feel his entire bodily organs.

He didn't think he'd ever try something like this, it felt like he just took a tab. It felt so . . . so beautiful. he could feel the air, the energy it harnessed, how quick he could bend it to his will. So he waved his hands again and David suddenly grabs them. He looks at me with wide curious eyes and the feeling of his hands on mine was absolutely riveting, He could bask in it, the feeling Peter got when he touched him. 

'Whoa, this was moving fast.' He giggled at the thought, and David started to laugh too, but now, it was slow and distorted. He wondered if it was his mutation that was doing this, but he heard voices that were deep, and he knew he didn't have that ability so he couldn't help but listen in. 

"H A H, what . . . are . . . you . . . thinking? I'm . . . thinking . . . yogurt . . . or . . . no . . . clonopin . . . no wait . . . yogurt . . . aaaand . . . clonopin . . . Yeah that'll . . . a cocktail!" 

Now his speech was slowed, it was becoming increasingly scary. David stood next to him, still holding his hand. "Are you, Is this . . . real?" 

"I'm real," Peter spoke, but it still resembled the distortion. It was getting annoying, but also really fucking funny. His voice sounded so weird, especially hearing it like that, and he couldn't help but dropping to the floor laughing, clutching his stomach because of how they both sounded. 

Then like a fucking bolt, reality snapped back like a rubber band so hard that Peter hauled his guts out behind the sofa. He felt like he just got off the round-a-bout with his friends after going again 4 times. He spits out the last of his liquids and turns, only to realize David was behind him consolidating, wiping his hair from his eyes, holding a wet towel to his face. 

"It's okay, you'll be okay." He kept whispering this to him, but Peter was angry now. Where had the euphoria gone? Why was it snatched from him like everything else? They had no right!

"What happened?" His voice is surprisingly calm.

"It's just the trip wearing off, it was your first time so you crashed hard." David kept wiping at his mouth. Now focusing on his lips, he rubbed back and forth unmoving his position of practically being on Peter's back. 

"What, so no hangover? That was the worse drug drop I've had since the 70s man." His voice crackled and he tried clearing his throat but the bile kept him from getting relief. 

"Can I brush my teeth?" Peter asked now, aware of how much it stunk being by the vomit. Wait, fuck oh my god, he threw up on his floor, "Shit, I'm so sorry David, I'll clean it up!" He scrambled up but David just pulled him back to sit. 

"Hey, hey, calm down. Everything is fine, I got this. I just-" He looked up apologetically, and Peter thought the worst. This was it, he had his fun now he'll tell him to leave, to get out. The spider returned. 

He was gonna kick him out, he was so angry with him, god why did he have to-

"I don't have a toothbrush for you, I'm sorry." Peter couldn't help it. 

He just started to cry.

David just flew into this protective mother stance and immediately threw his arms around him. "What happened!? Did I say something wrong?" He held Peter's face in his hands, and he could really see David now, the flaws, the cracked skin, the stubble that was left behind, how absolutely ocean blue his eyes were.

"No, no not at all." Fuck he really needs to brush his teeth. "We're just . . . we're gonna go on another adventure ok? Just a small one, alright?" David furrowed his brows, confused now.

"What? Why?" He dropped his face, and Peter sighed at the loss of warmth.

"Well . . . I need my toothbrush, don't I?" 

_____________

Created: February 20th 2020

Finished: February 17th 2021


End file.
